


Candles

by ViolaWay



Category: One Direction (Band), Star Trek RPF
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Smut, Harry has a boyfriend who isn't Louis, Louis-centric, M/M, Party, Sarcasm, Sarcastic Louis, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s a nice guy, Lou.” Niall’s tipsy already, Louis thinks. Good that someone’s having fun. His party hat is lopsided and everything; the very picture of a good time. </p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“He was in that Star Trek movie.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>OR</p><p>It's Louis' birthday and he's jealous of Harry's new boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles

Candles

He’s in the corner, nursing a bottle of beer, feeling utterly depressed at his own birthday party. They’ve gone to a lot of trouble, the boys—especially Harry. They’ve tried to make this a special day for him, but that doesn’t really change the fact that Harry’s brought his new boyfriend along, practically waving the guy in Louis’ face. His name is Zach, and he’s nicer than Louis cares to admit. He’s polite and apologizes for even coming when it’s Louis’ party and they haven’t even met before.

 

“You’re my best friend’s boyfriend, of course you’re welcome here.” Louis is a coward.

 

They’re dancing, now. Harry and his fucking boyfriend, practically grinding right in front of Louis’ eyes. Of course, Eleanor’s getting him another drink right now, so maybe he’s a hypocrite, but it still feels unfair. On his birthday.

 

He’s pretty sure that he doesn’t know half the people here. He walked into the bathroom not three minutes ago to see random people—celebrities, maybe—getting high. It didn’t seem as though they recognized him. There’re a lot of celebrities; many of them have slashed One Direction on Twitter but they’re polite now, with free booze and loud, thumping music permeating every corner of the apartment.

 

His beer bottle empties far too soon, and he’s forced to wait for Eleanor to get back, trying to retreat as far away from everyone else in the room as possible.

 

_Before the night is over, he’ll have to endure five conversations with the potential to change his life._

The first is with Niall, and by itself it wouldn’t be life changing in the slightest, because Louis is used to ignoring the not-so-subtle-hints about Larry Stylinson, because even though Niall means well, it just hurts to hear those words.

 

So Niall comes over with a beer and says, blunt as ever:

 

“Eleanor gave me this to give to you. She says you’ve been a dick to her all day. Is it ‘cos of Harry and Zach?”

 

Louis nods; no point in denying it, is there?

 

“He’s a nice guy, Lou.” Niall’s tipsy already, Louis thinks. Good that someone’s having fun. His party hat is lopsided and everything; the very picture of a good time.

 

“I know.”

 

“He was in that Star Trek movie.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, Lou, don’t be like that!” Niall pouts, which normally works on Louis. But today, Louis feels like sulking, and if he’s not left in peace soon he’s going to yell at someone. “Look, I’ll introduce you and Quinto, properly. Alright?”

 

“No.” But Niall has already skipped (literally skipped, obviously, because…well, he’s Niall) to the middle of the dance floor, tapping the offending boyfriend on the shoulder. Louis gives him another once-over, and surmises that he shouldn’t be Harry’s type. Well, he’s cute. But with hipster glasses and a leather jacket and skinny jeans. Louis would never wear hipster glasses or a leather jacket. This stings.

 

“Hi.”

 

Damn it all to hell, Zachary Quinto is a cute little fucker when he smiles, Louis thinks. He tries to smile back, but it’s probably not his best work to date. In fact, it’s probably more of a grimace. Louis looks over the actor’s shoulder to see Harry staring intently at them, that little furrow of concentration between his eyes.

 

_Oh._

Harry really wants Louis to like Zach. Huh. And Louis, like, can’t let Harry down. Ever. So he puts on a dazzling smile and holds out a hand for Zach to shake, suddenly truck by a resemblance that he couldn’t quite place until now.

 

“You played a serial killer in a TV show, didn’t you?”

 

Zach giggles. Fucking hell… Louis resists the urge to dig a hole, climb into it, and die there. He also wonders how this guy ever managed to even act out killing people, but he supposes that’s what drama’s about.

 

“Yes, I did.” His voice is deep, a tiny bit like Harry’s. But, American. So not really like Harry’s at all. What number beer is Louis on again? “Sylar.”

 

“Oh, you were good,” Louis nods. “And…Spock, right?”

 

“It was a most logical career decision,” Zach replies, in monotone. Louis stares. An inside joke, he grasps.

 

“Uh…sorry, I didn’t see that movie,” Louis mutters. “So, anyway, I should leave you to…”

 

“You love him, don’t you?”

 

“Um.” Louis has genius responses stored for every situation…excluding this one. He shrugs one shoulder and makes for his escape route.

 

“Louis, it’s okay. Harry’s a great guy, but…I just got out of a break-up a couple of months ago. We’d been together a long time, but he got jealous of me and a friend, so it ended. Harry came to a premiere, and he was really nice—a shoulder to cry on. But it didn’t take me long to realise that I was intruding on something incredibly special. The death threats on Twitter were a nice indication of the pain that I was plausibly causing you.”

 

“Just…rumours,” Louis manages, although the tears in his eyes might be invalidating his statement slightly.

 

“I’ll let you think it over,” Zach says sadly. “Harry’s a wonderful person, and he deserves to have someone who loves him irrationally, and…audaciously. I’m not saying I can offer him that, but. Think about it?”

 

He walks away again, putting his hands in his jacket pockets and pulling away the lapels. Under the jacket, he’s wearing a gaudy, brightly coloured shirt with suspenders. Louis contemplates killing him with the suspenders for about 3.4 seconds before deciding that outfit choices are not going to stand up as an excuse for murder in court. Still. Louis knows Harry loves suspenders. Zach shouldn’t be able to offer Harry anything that Louis can’t.

 

***

Eleanor’s found out in the corridor, drooling over some blond guy who Louis might recognize but doesn’t really care about right now. To be honest, he looks pretty scared of Eleanor’s advances, so Louis might be saving him. The casual hand on her shoulder is an indication of ‘GAY’ if Louis ever saw one.

 

“El,” he hisses. “EL. Oh, my God, leave the fucking homosexual alone.” Louis turns to the guy, only very slightly apologetic. “Sorry, mate. But I’m right, aren’t I?”

 

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

 

Eleanor blushes a colour that would have made Louis laugh in any other situation and sinks to the floor, leaving Louis to crouch down and put a comforting arm around her. It’s happened to him before, albeit the other way round. “Chris Pine is gay,” she whispers, mortified.

 

“Yeah, he is, and he’s right here,” the guy chuckles. “It’s okay. One of the worst kept secrets in Hollywood, I assure you.”

 

Eleanor looks like she might cry.

 

“Hey, El, your relationship troubles can’t be as bad as mine. Okay? My best mate’s boyfriend just said that I was in love with said best mate and that I should do something irrational and audacious. In those words. I’m very drunk so I’m a bit blurry on what they actually mean. Help me.”

 

“It means something stupid and courageous,” Eleanor supplies helpfully.

 

“Right, great. Now what should I do?” Louis demands.

 

“Hey, was that Zach?” Louis had forgotten that there’s a witness. Dammit.

 

“Yes. Yes, it was Zach. Have you got any advice?”

 

“Dude. I’ve been in love with Zachary fucking Quinto for four years. No, I don’t have any freaking advice about how to nail his boyfriend.”

 

Eleanor now looks slightly queasy and like she might faint. “Why are all the hot ones gay?” she mutters mournfully to herself. Louis and In-Love-With-Harry’s-Boyfriend-Guy studiously ignore her, although Louis does decide to take it as compliment.

 

“Wait, so you’re the other guy from One Direction?” Crushing-Eleanor’s-Dreams-Man queries. “Lewis?”

 

“Louis,” Louis corrects automatically. “And who are you, American-Dreamboat?” His nicknames are getting less creative as time goes on. This saddens him slightly. Although that might be residue depression from who Harry’s with right now. Either way, Louis’ sad.

 

“Chris Pine. So, are you planning anything particularly irrational and/or audacious?”

 

“I have no idea what to do,” Louis moans. “It’s been three and a half years. Ever since I met him in that fucking toilet…”

 

“Join the club.” Chris pauses. “What if we take his advice?”

 

“What, the stupid and brave thing?” Louis is usually fond of being reckless, but he’s been dancing around Harry for 1177 days (he keeps track, obviously) and he’s sort of used to it by now. It doesn’t lead to anything (because Harry is oblivious to even the most thinly concealed innuendos) but it’s safe. Louis’ rather fond of being safe.

 

“Louis…if you don’t do this now, you’ll never get what you want. Harry and Zach will get married and Harry’ll call his first-born son Louis, and then one day you’ll meet in a supermarket after not having spoken for years, and you’ll feel those old feelings swarming you again—”

 

“Okay, okay, I get it! Jeez, are all actors so dramatic?”

 

“It’s part of our skill set,” Chris shrugs. “Anyway, I’ve got a plan, if you’re willing to listen.” Louis hesitates. “If you really love him,” Chris continues, “hear me out?”

 

***

_“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy Birthday Dear Louis…Happy Birthday to you!”_

 

One gravelly voice stands out as he leans over to blow out the candles on the beautiful cake that Harry’s made by hand, has spent days working on. It’s iced half-pink and half-blue, with the pattern of their his-and-her blankets on it. He blows out all but one, and gets ready to blow that out, too, until…

 

“Make a wish,” Harry says.

 

He’s right next to Louis, body brushing up against him, even. It’s too much; it’s not enough, and Louis’ fucking terrified but he has to say it.

 

“I wish you’d love me like I love you,” he murmurs, before blowing the candles out, all in one go. Then, a little louder. “Oh, and I also wish that Zach would love Chris because they’d be fucking awesome together.”

 

Then he flees, because that was enough bravery for one day. He’s pretty sure no one follows him, which is good, and he is safely under his covers and letting a few tears escape when there’s a knock on the door. Which, you know. Biggest boyband in the world, he’s used to having no privacy.

 

“Louis.”

 

Well, at least it’s not Harry. Louis croaks that Chris should enter, but makes no attempt to move from the safety of his nest under his quilt. There’s one of Harry’s jumpers somewhere in here; Louis can smell it. He’s taken to stealing Harry’s jumpers, wrapping himself up in them in the dead of night and streaking them with white before he washes them and gives them back (maybe after wearing them once or twice, too).

 

“Did I fuck up?” Louis asks immediately. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

 

“Um, if you get out of your cocoon, I can tell you,” Chris answers. It sounds like he’s stifling a laugh. Bastard.

 

“Fine,” Louis mumbles, rolling straight onto the floor. He blinks at the light, staring inquisitively at Chris. “So, are Zach and Harry making out in a back room somewhere?” Chris makes a face.

 

“No.”

 

“Pine, you tell me where they are or so help me...” Louis lets his warning trail off, mostly because he has no idea how to threaten a successful actor. Do they respond to hair-pulling? All the major questions.

 

“I think they’re trying to get everyone to leave,” Chris shrugs. “They didn’t really say anything. Not to me, at least.” He looks disappointed, but not like he’s lost hope. Louis takes it as a good sign. “Even Liam, Niall and Zayn. I assure you, Niall was pushed through the door kicking and screaming. I think he’s a little too involved in your relationship, to tell you the truth. It’s just us four left, I think.”

 

“Oh, God...” Louis looks longingly at his blanket again. It would be so easy to just dive under there until everyone went away. Well, Harry lives here. But still.

 

“It’s good, alright? We get to talk, like adults.” Chris doesn’t look like he’s convincing himself with his own speech. “And, like, at least we know they’re both gay. Right?”

 

Louis gives him a ‘look’.

 

“I’m just saying, they swing our way. That’s better than if they were chasing pussy. So, there’s hope.”

 

Louis had decided that he hates hope.

 

***

 

This is where dreams come to die. “The Talk.” Except, like, there’re four of them, and Louis isn’t sure whether that makes it better or worse. And none of them know what to say. Harry just blushes every time Louis so much as looks at him, Zachary looks like he’s running through his mental dictionary, Chris looks like he’s unhealthily turned on by the sight of Zachary running through his mental dictionary, and Louis can’t stop his knee from jiggling.

 

“So...” he begins hesitantly. “Who’s in love with who, might be a good place to...start.” He instantly hates himself, but oh well. “Chris, let’s start with you.”

 

Now Chris also looks like he hates Louis, but this was his idea so he has to take at least partial responsibility. Louis feels rather limited remorse about throwing him into the sharks, or some similarly dramatic metaphor. Damn, all this hanging out with actors is doing something to his already over-spectacular mind.

 

“Zach, you know that...thing, from a few months ago?”

 

“When I kissed you and entirely compromised our friendship? It’s never far from my mind.”

 

“I didn’t mind.”

 

“I’m not sure I...”

 

“Guys, we do not have all day,” Louis interrupts. “So say what you have to say, please. And don’t dance around it. Sheesh. I am not a relationship counsellor, people. You need to get your shit sorted out.”

 

He is awarded three glares. Although Harry still looks like a kitten when he tries to frown, so Louis thinks that one doesn’t count.

 

“The reason I pushed you away was because you hadn’t told me about your break-up with Jonathon, you dick,” Chris continues. “I thought I was helping you cheat or something, and I didn’t want to be that guy. I’ve regretted it ever since. Although you really should have told me the details of the proposition before you jumped on me.”

 

Zach rolls his eyes. “I didn’t ‘jump on you’.”

 

“Sure you didn’t,” Chris winks. “So, I’ve been in love with you since the day you throttled me on set.”

 

“That says something about his kinks,” Louis murmurs. More glares.

 

“As Spock, you idiot,” Harry mutters. Harry has apparently watched Star Trek. Without Louis. This is a really stupid thing to get jealous about.

 

“Still.”

 

“Okay, Lou, come with me,” Harry says, standing up. “Let them have a moment without your sarcastic comments. We’re gonna give them some time alone.”

 

Louis nods.

 

They end up in Louis’ bedroom, where Harry merely raises a single eyebrow (a habit he’s picked up from Zach) at the mess of bedclothes on the floor. Louis shuffles his feet and tries not to dive under the covers again. He’s not a coward. Nope. If Chris can do this, so can he. Totally. What’s the worst that can happen?

(Harry could hate him and their friendship could be ruined forever, the band could break up because of it and Louis might never see his other three best mates again, and of course he’s had quite a steady income from the teenage girls buying concert tickets. He’d rather not lose that, but hey.)

 

“Why’ve you got my jumper?” Harry asks, titling his head towards where it’s scattered across the floor along with everything else that had been on Louis’ bed.

 

“I wank over it sometimes.” Louis is going for full disclosure here.

 

“Lou…” Harry starts, averting his eyes. And this, this is where the awkwardness begins. Louis resents it already.

 

“But, no. Look, it’s not like that. Because it’s at night that I allow myself to think about kissing you,” Louis says. “Nothing explicit. Just your hands around my waist, me pulling on your hair. You’d moan, and then…” he shudders just at the thought of it, now. “It’d deepen. I’d fist my hands in your jumper, I’d be able to smell it…smell you. You’d be all around me, enveloping me, and I just…I can’t help it. I think about it, I get turned on. Because that’s how far this crush has gone, Haz.” He pauses in order to giggle a little hysterically. “Just kissing you…” He runs a hand through his hair, can feel his blood heating up even now, just at the thought. He can see Harry’s lips at the moment, so plush and biteable, and it’s the first time Harry’s been right here…he swallows and sways on the spot. God, he’s worse than Chris.

 

“Louis,” Harry whispers. “I have your jumper in my room. I have three pairs of your shoes, a bottle of your aftershave, and some of your soap, and your shampoo. I have two t-shirts, and you just think you’re forgetful, but I’ve nicked half your wardrobe.”

 

“So? I have impeccable fashion taste.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“I wanna hear you say it,” Louis murmurs, his legs finally taking action and moving a little closer, so he’s just on the edge of Harry’s personal space. And yeah, he can smell his own aftershave. Huh.

 

“It gets me off, too. Having something of yours on me…” Harry lets out the softest little groan, eyes fluttering shut. That, Louis thinks, is really unfair.

 

“You’re thinking about it now.” Pointing out the obvious has always been one of his strengths.

 

“Yes,” Harry hisses, and like. Nope. This was going to be a grown-up conversation where they talked like rational people and now Louis is practically drooling. Maybe he can get out of this using logic, or maybe he can take the opportunity to fuck Harry into the mattress. It’s a hard decision to make.

 

“Chris and Zach are in the other room.” But he’s gravitating towards Harry; their bodies are pressed together now. Louis is so screwed.

 

“D’you reckon they can hear?” Harry mutters.

 

“Well, they’d better not be fucking on our sofa,” Louis replies. (Minutes later, they will find out that, yes.)

 

As it is, they suddenly hear a noise that can be interpreted in many different ways.

 

“Chris,” Louis assumes, at the same time that Harry says “Zach.” They look at each other for a long moment and then realise that they’re too close to be debating about which of the men in their front room is currently receiving what sounds like pretty impressive blowjob. There are more important matters at hand.

 

“Can I kiss you yet?” Harry asks, biting his lower lip.

 

“Well, we’re already moving slower than the horny bastards in our living room,” Louis concedes. “Sluts. I like to wait at least ten minutes before I make a move on a guy.”

 

“It’s been 52 months.”

 

“Really? You counted in months?” Louis demands.

 

“Days was just depressing. So was years, for that matter.”

 

“Oh, just kiss me.”

 

“You fool,” Harry whispers nostalgically, and that’s it. Louis’ had enough. He pulls Harry in by the back of his neck, fingers twisting into the curly hair there. Connecting their lips, he kind of gives up. His body sags against Harry’s, leaving the younger boy to hold Louis’ arms, arms connecting around his waist. It’s the kind of kiss you melt into; slow and lazy, learning the taste of each other, the planes of each other’s mouths. Licking into it and getting unconsciously closer, until their torsos are pressed up against one another, and Louis thinks it’s better than the fantasies he’d let himself have. It’s not a surprise, then, that he’s already hard, because pent up sexual frustration does wonders for actual sex.

 

Harry’s hands slowly make their way down Louis’ back, sneaking under the ugly Christmas sweater that Louis received from his mum. Long nails dig into the skin there, making Louis whimper in surprise. His mouth disconnects from Harry’s in order to simply pant into the man’s jawline, licking and breathing there, and somehow in the midst of all that sensation they stumble over to the bed.

 

They’re like teenagers, just rutting up against each other and mouthing at whatever they can reach: the inside of Harry’s bicep, the birds on his chest, the pulse point of Louis’ neck and the lobe of his ear. Harry is in cruel, unforgiving black skinny jeans, and Louis decides it isn’t even worth it to try and take them off. He knows that the rub of the denim with drive Harry crazy, anyway. And besides, they’re going to come to soon, because apparently they have both de-aged by about six years.

 

Harry’s sounds are so pretty that Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself, just wants to listen to those gasps and keens for days on end, have them on a tape, on repeat (he’s making them happen).

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckkk…” Louis repeats uselessly into Harry’s neck. They’re clutching onto each other and simply writhing around in a chase for pleasure, pleasure which is swarming over their bodies. Louis is underneath Harry, surrounded by him, can feel the curls of the boy’s hair, see the green of his eyes, taste the sweat of his skin.

 

“One day,” Harry pants, “you’re gonna wear my jumper, and I’m gonna fuck you in it. You’ll look so…” A gasp as Louis bites down on the skin of his collarbone. “So pretty.”

 

It’s Harry calling him pretty that does it. Louis topples headfirst off the edge, collapsing against the bed and shutting his eyes against the waves of ecstasy.

 

“Oh, God,” he hears, and that’s Harry, who’s considerate enough to roll over before indulging in the post-coital bliss (although the movement leads him to fall off the bed. At least there are blankets down there.). “We just came in our pants.”

 

“At least we were horizontal,” Louis replies sleepily. “D’you reckon Chris and Zach are gone?”

 

“Only one way to find out,” Harry grins cheekily.

 

“I’m not moving. Go find out yourself. I think my limbs stopped working around the time you said the words ‘fuck’ and ‘jumper’ in the same sentence. Just to warn you, I’m holding you to that.”

 

“Of course you are. But you have to come with me…what if they’re naked!?” Harry cackles gleefully.

 

“I’m gonna get jealous if you voice that obsession with Quinto’s naked body one more time,” Louis warns, eyes still shut.

 

“Please,” Harry whines, and that’s just too cute for Louis’ fragile psychology to bear. He stands, wobbling slightly when he’s on his feet.

 

“Ugh, I think that orgasm shorted out my brain,” Louis complains.

 

The make their way to the living room, where the other two men (having actually cleaned up afterwards, much to Louis’ relief and Harry disappointment) are curled up around each other on the sofa, Chris’ head snuggled under Zach’s chin. Zach looks up when he hears them enter, cracking one eye open.

 

“Sorry,” he croaks. “He was exhausted.”

 

“You bet he was,” Louis giggles mischievously. “Who was on the receiving end?”

 

“Him,” Zach replies, looking slightly (very) proud of himself. “I’ve got a lot of experience.”

 

“I heard that,” Chris murmurs sleepily. “Hate you.”

 

“What if I promise you unlimited blowjobs for all eternity?” Zach challenges evilly.

 

“Then I love you. Just don’t be an arrogant sod about it.”

 

“I’m not making any promises.”

 

Louis clears his throat. “Hey, wanna use Harry’s bed? Like, we’re not gonna be using it and it’s bigger than mine anyway…”

 

“Chris, can you move?” Zach inquires, innocence strong in his tone.

 

“Oh, shut the fuck up. You got off on doing it.”

 

“That I did,” Zach concedes. “The bed would be great, thanks.”

 

“Carry me,” Chris pouts. Louis has to remind himself that this man has supposedly starred in action movies. He looks like a puppy.

 

Zach, unsurprisingly, doesn’t carry Chris, which is actually rather disappointing, as that’s something Louis would’ve paid to see. Instead, they stumble into Harry’s bedroom, leaning on each other. As it is, Louis takes mental pictures. Blackmail is one of his favourite pastimes.

 

“Hey, Harry?” Louis says suddenly. “I love you. Forgot to say it earlier.”

 

“I know you do,” Harry grins.

 

“Bastard.”

 

“Love you, silly,” Harry replies, swooping down for a kiss and taking the opportunity to lift Louis into his arms, bridal style. Louis doesn’t even bother protesting, because, like, it’s kind of hot that Harry can lift him up and carry him places. Not to mention useful.

 

“To the bedroom,” he commands.

 

“Of course, your majesty,” Harry mutters, rolling his eyes.

 

“Oh, and I expect breakfast in bed tomorrow,” Louis adds. “Pancakes. And orange juice. And can we stay friends with Chris and Zach? And will you watch Star Trek with me? And—?” He yawns, stretching out in Harry’s arms.

 

“Sleep first,” Harry says.

 

And they do, wrapped around each other in the single bed.

 

Back in the kitchen, the lone candle that Louis left burning shrinks until there’s nothing left but a puddle of wax.

**Author's Note:**

> if you like it, please show me the love! kudos' make me happy inside (and make me dance around my room like a crazy person.)


End file.
